


Caged

by TheObsidianQuill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, Canon Compliant, Captivity, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Rating May Change, Scott is a Good Friend, Scott is a bit dumb, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Were-Creatures, Weretiger Stiles Stilinski, minus stiles, stiles has been through some shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsidianQuill/pseuds/TheObsidianQuill
Summary: Stiles is ten when his mom dies. He's also ten when he's kidnapped by a radical group of supernatural creatures looking to turn him into a child-soldier to bring about a new world order. He must survive the hell fires of captivity under a deranged man if he has any hope of escaping and returning home to his father and friend. But even if he did manage to make it back in one piece, a lot has changed since he left. . . Then again, so has he.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 47
Kudos: 240





	1. The Beginning

Her illness came with the first humid showers of spring, curtains of rain gliding down their windows as they drove to and from Beacon Hills Memorial. Stiles was nine when his mom had been diagnosed with  _ frontotemporal dementia. _ After months of forgotten appointments, bouts of strange behavior and slipping judgment, his mom had finally decided to go in for a thorough check-up. After her diagnosis, their lives had changed completely.

Suddenly, Stiles wasn’t allowed to stay with his mom unsupervised. The woman who practically breathed sunlight and worshiped the outdoors, stopped leaving their house. She stopped making breakfast with Stiles every Sunday morning, she neglected her beloved flowerbeds out front, and began to lose her appetite with time.

Right before his eyes, Stiles’ mother was deteriorating.

She eventually stopped leaving her bed or showering regularly. She would suddenly become angry and scream at Stiles and his dad, or breakdown crying out of nowhere. The worst, however, was whenever she would disappear. She got confused sometimes, and would just wander out of the house—usually still in her pajamas—and sympathetic neighbors or pitying townsfolk would call up the station to let his dad know they had found her and where to pick her up.

Almost just as bad, were the times when his poor mother would come out of an episode, realize the chaos and pain she had caused—sometimes even in the middle of screaming at her family—and he could see her breaking on the inside. She cried the hardest in those moments.

An outspoken part of Stiles hated himself for it, but he was almost  _ relieved _ when it came time for his mom to move into the hospital, only because he felt so incredibly dumb and helpless every time his mother lost herself to her illness. At least the doctors knew how to comfort her and make her better.  _ Right? _

Wrong.

That cold beige hospital room made his mom miserable, and Stiles’ time with his mom was cut in half once she went there. As usual, his dad would drop him off at his best friend Scott’s house when he went to work, and many days Stiles would secretly borrow Scott’s bike and go straight to the hospital to see his mom. Melissa always tattled on him to his dad, but other than a weary sigh when he came to pick Stiles up from the hospital, and a ruffling of his buzzed hair, his dad didn’t scold him at all.

It was the sixth of June, the morning had been a mess of warm summer showers, green-tinted skies, and distant thunder storms. It was also Stiles’ tenth birthday. He had begged his dad to allow him to take the day off school and let him spend the day with his mom. She had been sleeping more and more those past few weeks, looking weaker and more tired every time she woke up, but he didn’t mind. He would spend hours at her bedside if only it meant he could have a few spare minutes with his mom. His dad was reluctant to leave him on his own for so long, since he had an important meeting that morning to attend to and couldn’t join him until around noon, but Stiles persisted.

He should have stayed home. He should have listened to his dad and waited for him to come visit later.

It was not even an hour into sitting vigil at his mother’s bedside, that his world came crashing down. The limp hand in his grasp twitched, he saw her eyelids flutter as her eyes rolled behind them, the breath in her throat stuttered and seized, all the while the wall of machines around her lit up like a Christmas tree and alarms sounded around the room. Stiles was ripped from his mother’s tightening grasp by a swarm of frantic doctors and nurses, shoved to the back wall of the room and forgotten as they began shoving needles inside his mom and flashing pen lights in her unresponsive eyes.

He stood frozen, ears ringing and chest feeling like it was slowly filling with water, as a man in blue scrubs pressed both hands over his mom’s chest and began pushing down  _ hard _ , again and again. Again and again and again  andagainagainagainagain \--

“ _ Clear!” _ her pale blue hospital gown lay open, bearing her unmoving body to the room. Stiles wanted to shout at them for making her cold, for pushing so hard on her chest, for pressing the gleaming metal paddles to her chest and the ribs below her armpit. But his lips were numb, his whole body was numb. And then his sweet, frail mama gave a violent  _ jolt _ on the bed. The alarms sang their droning continuous note. She was shocked again, and Stiles could feel the wetness on his cheeks. She was shocked again; he was trembling where he stood. A nurse put a hand on the shoulder of the doctor holding the paddles, stopping him from doing it again.

Someone in the room announced the time and for the first time, a nurse seemed to notice Stiles’ presence. She reached out for him, but suddenly Stiles was running. He had to get away, away from the glassy amber eyes staring up into the harsh lights, away from the sight of his mothers’ still, thin chest laid bare to the room, away from that awful shriek of machines, and away from the sad brown eyes of the nurse who noticed him. He had to get away from it all, before it managed to crush his thin bones under  its incredible weight.

He burst out of the front doors of the hospital and into the muggy California air. He turned and began running down the sidewalk, as if he were going home, but he had barely made it a block when he tripped over the uneven sidewalk and fell onto his knees, skinning them through his jeans as well as the palms of his small hands. The pain was searing but it couldn’t compare to the thundering storm inside his skull.

He stayed there, knelt on the street corner and sobbing on the damp cement. The hospital was on the outskirts of town, so the sidewalks were empty at that time, Stiles’ only company the howling wind and a half-full parking lot of empty cars behind him. He could feel hot tears splattering the ground between his stinging hands, his hoarse wails stuttering through his quaking chest and echoing off the cars.

“Why the tears, little one?” Stiles jumped at the sudden deep voice behind him, scrambling back a foot as he turned around to face the stranger, landing on his butt in the hurried movement. Before him knelt a man, he looked young, younger than his dad but older than a teenager. He wore a black baseball cap with a dark blue hoody pulled up over it, but what caught Stiles attention the most, was the way the man’s eyes were the color of the drink’s dad liked to have sometimes late at night when he thought Stiles had gone to bed. A reddish-gold that gleamed from under the shade of the man’s cap.

“You hurt hand?” He asked, gently taking ahold of Stiles’ little wrist to examine the bloodied scrapes across his palms. The man had a thick accent  cloaking his words. Stiles couldn’t fully recognize where it was from, but it made the man’s words sound blunt and authoritative. The sudden appearance of the strange man had frightened Stiles out of his tears momentarily, all he could do was silently nod at the stranger. The man clicked his tongue sadly as he looked down at Stiles. But there was something wrong about the man, something . . .  _ insincere _ at the very core of his mannerisms. Though, Stiles didn’t realize just what was off about the man, he still felt a haze of fear linger in the back of his mind.

“Would you like me make better?” The man smiled wide, too many white teeth bearing between his thin lips. As the man still had a hold on Stiles’ wrist—a hold that was steadily growing tighter as they spoke—he hesitantly nodded. He felt like a frozen deer in the cross-hairs of a hunter, if he moved at the wrong time, he’d be done for. The man’s grin widened and before Stiles realized what was happening, the man pulled his hand up to his face and swiped the flat of his tongue over the entirety of his palm. Stiles yelped and jerked his hand away in surprise and fear.

A deep chuckle rumbled out of the man at his reaction.

“Look little one, it better.” he said, haphazardly gesturing to the hand Stiles clutched to his chest. Stiles wanted to get up and run, but he just knew that the man was faster than him, and they were too far from the hospital doors for anyone to hear him scream for help . Reluctantly, Stiles  pulled his hand away from his chest and glanced down. His eyes widened and he flipped his hand over and then back again.  _ Nothing.  _ His hand was completely  healed. No scabs or blood or  scars,  it didn’t even sting any more. Somehow the man had fixed his  hand.

As Stiles marveled over  the  unbroken skin of his  palm, the man grabbed his other hand and healed it. Abruptly, Stiles shot up from the ground and grabbed ahold of the man’s sleeve.

“My mom, she’s hurt! Please, you have to help her!” He pleaded, trying to tug the man up onto his feet as well. The man, however, didn’t react. Instead, he just kept grinning. Stiles continued to beg the man in vain, growing more and more hysteric as the adult seemed to find amusement in his panic.

“Stiles?” The hospital doors had been thrown open and his head shot up at the call of his name. It was his dad, red-eyed and looking distraught as he frantically scanned the sea of cars before him. The next few moments happened so fast.

“Dad!” Stiles sobbed, moving to step around the stranger and run into the familiar arms of his father. He was stopped by a bruising hand  clamping down around his thin bicep. There was a roar of an engine behind him and a squeal of tires. John whipped around and his eyes finally locked onto the tear-streaked face of his son, just as a huge black van pulled up behind him and the crouched figure before him took hold of the boy.

“ _ DAD!” _ Stiles screamed as the man finally stood and shoved him backwards. Equally strong hands hooked under Stiles’ armpits and hoisted him up and back into the open cavern of the waiting vehicle. Stiles screamed and struggled against the unyielding hands, kicking out at the strange man who was climbing in after them. Over the man’s shoulder, he could see his dad sprinting down the pavement with abandon. Stiles would likely never forget the look of anguish and terror on his dad’s face as the door between them slid closed and the tires peeled over the asphalt.

Stiles continued to scream and kick at his abductors until he soon felt the sharp pinch of something piercing his throat. Darkness came on swift, thundering hooves.

* * *

His rise to consciousness was slow and syrupy, the repetitive throbbing of a nasty head ache greeting him before anything else. He was cold, the low hum of an air duct nearby pumping a constant flow of cool air into the space. He felt around groggily for a blanket or even a sheet to try to cover himself, but there was nothing but the thin, sheet-less mattress beneath him—not even a pillow for his pounding head.

He cautiously opened his eyes and was immediately greeted with two fierce stabs of pain right through his eye sockets at the blinding florescent light above him. Stiles groaned and rolled onto his side,  covering his eyes with one hand and carefully peeking through his fingers to get some measure of his bearings. He was in a small room with one large overhead florescent light and white— _ well, everything! _ The ceiling, the walls, the floors, the bed beneath him, even the loose cotton t-shirt and draw-string pants were a light grey, barely a few shades darker than the rest of the room.

With the blazing white of reality surrounding him, it didn’t take long for the fog to clear and for Stiles to remember the hospital, the man, and the van. In that moment, a wave of grief and fear warred within him, combining to produce a wheezing, sobbing mess of a boy on the thin cot. Stiles pushed himself into the corner and pulled his knees to his chest. His limbs were starting to go numb and his breathing was getting more ragged as it felt like his lungs were filling with water. The white walls were pressing in on him and he swore he felt the painted cement bricks around him grew hands and began tugging at his clothes and hair.

It took a long time for the panic to fade, but the looming dread and grief remained long after he regained control of his breathing once more.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, curled up on the corner of the bed. There were no windows in the room, no clock. But once Stiles regained control of his faculties again and reexamined the room, he realized there were a few other things in the room. A single, lidless metal toilet on the right side of the room, next to a similarly smooth metal sink. On the sink sat a bar of soap smaller than his palm, a small white tube of what might be toothpaste, and a white tooth brush in a sealed clear wrapper. There was a door on the opposite side of the room, it had no handle from the inside, it appeared to be made of metal painted white, and it had a window but it was being covered by something on the other side. The last thing in the room, was a camera mounted to the ceiling and sealed within a clear plastic dome, pointed directly at him.

Grimacing at the thought of being watched by his captors, Stiles  laid back down and turned his back  to the camera. He laid like that for what felt like an hour before the familiar buzzing restlessness in his limbs had him up  off the bed and pacing the room, counting bricks in the walls to try to quell the flitting creatures of his thoughts.

In the hours that followed, Stiles paced and fidgeted, he banged on the metal door and shouted for someone to let him out. He even spent a good hour silent and still with his ear pressed to the cold metal door, listening for any signs of life. He managed to catch the sound of muffle footsteps and quiet snippets of conversation from people passing by his door. It was usually in a language he couldn’t understand, but that didn’t stop him from pounding his fists on the door and calling out for help. Not that he ever got a response. Stiles knew it was likely that anyone on the other side of the door would be one of his captors, but he had to try  _ something _ .

As time passed lethargically, Stiles’ stomach began to rumble and cramp with the lack of food. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning of his birthday, and he had no idea how long he had been asleep for. Eventually, he had to start gulping down the water from the faucet in an attempt at quelling the painful cramping in his gut. Then he returned to the bed and laid down—once more facing the wall. Stiles pulled his arms into his shirt in a bid to keep some of his warmth, but it did little to chase away the chill. He pulled his knees up towards his chest as well.

Stiles tried to sleep, hoping that a nap would help replenish his strength and rid him of his still-present headache, but with the blinding light above, it seemed impossible. Instead, he was consumed by his thoughts. Visions of his mom, pale and still in the harsh medical lights burned behind his eyelids. The distant calls of his frantic dad echoed through the  air-ducts .  _ Would he ever return home? Would he be able to send his mom off properly? Would his dad ever find him? Would his captors kill him first? _ The boy stewed in those thoughts as the minutes ticked by uncounted.

Stiles was trying to recall the exact cadence of his mother’s voice when she sang, when the room was suddenly plunged into complete darkness. He held his breath, waiting for something else to happen; perhaps they would come for him in the dark, or maybe they had forgotten about him and he would stay trapped in that inescapable room, left to starve. The fear feasted on the darkness and Stiles’ deteriorating thoughts.

However, nothing happened.

No one came in, the door never opened, nothing grabbed at Stiles’ limbs or sliced at his flesh. Nothing.

Once Stiles managed to calm down a bit, once he’d convinced himself that he was alright and nothing was coming for him in the shadows, he settled back down on the mattress. It took a long time for him to fall asleep, but eventually the exhaustion got the better of him.

* * *

He was awoken by the harsh glare of florescence against his closed lids. Stiles had only just rolled over onto his side and began blinking away the burning brightness, when there was a loud knock on the other side of the metal door. He only had time to push himself up and swing his legs over the side of the bed when the door unlocked and opened for two towering men dressed in dark muted colors. One of them was holding a plastic tray of food, while the other stood in the doorway and watched Stiles, waiting for him to try to make a run for it.

As the other man set the tray down on the ground in the center of the room and turned to leave without a word, the trembling boy finally found his voice.

“Please, Mister! I want to go home! I promise I won’t tell, just let me go.” The man paused and Stiles took it as his opportunity to plead for his freedom. “I’m all my dad has left. He  _ needs _ me! Please . . . you’ve got the wrong kid! I’m scrawny and chatty, I get into trouble without even trying, I’m not worth it I swear!” Stiles exclaimed desperately. The man finally turned to meet his gaze, but instead of a look of hesitance and doubt, he just looked  _ annoyed. _

_ “ _ Quiet cub, you won’t be going anywhere. Better to forget your life before, you will be reborn soon enough.” This man, much like the one who had taken him, also had a strong accent but his English wasn’t nearly as broken. As Stiles puzzled over his strange words, the man spoke one last time before promptly leaving the room with his ‘companion’ and shutting the heavy door. “You should eat, you will need to be strong for what comes next.”

That ominous departure left Stiles with a nauseating sense of hopelessness in his gut. Never the less, he knew the man was probably right, so he slid off the bed onto the floor and started slowly eating the plain lunch. It wasn’t bad—a serving of steaming brown rice, a few peeled boiled eggs, a cup of milk, and a bowl of dark leafy greens—but the meal was clearly made with purely the thought of protein and nutrition in mind and therefore, tasteless.  _ At least they’re feeding me at all. . . _ he thought cynically as he spooned another gob of rice into his mouth.

When he finished, he set the tray in front of the door and climbed back onto his bed. He finally felt full and that helped a bit with the cold, but he now wished he had used his opportunity to talk to his captors in order to ask for a blanket—maybe even a pillow, or a sweatshirt and some socks.

The whole situation made Stiles want to curl up and cry on his mattress, to throw his tray at the door and make a mess of the room, to claw at the men with his blunt fingernails and latch his useless teeth onto their hands the next time they dared to enter the space. But his dad had told him once about situations like these, told him that if he was ever around someone dangerous to never try to be a hero or to make them mad. He told Stiles to always use his big brain of his and  _ be smart _ .

So, he didn’t throw a tantrum, he didn’t break things and scream all the curse words he knew at the men or try to dash past them when the door opened again a few hours later with an equally bland lunch. He calmly sat on his cot and asked the stoic men if he could maybe have a blanket or warmer clothes. Neither of them responded or looked like they had even heard him, but he didn’t ask again. And when he ate and finished his meal of fish, rice, steamed vegetables, and water: he didn’t cry. No matter how much he missed his mom and dad, no matter how frustrated he was at being trapped and helpless, he refused to shed a tear. Because he knew he was being watched.

Wherever he moved in the room, the camera would follow. Even when he finally gave into the urges of his body and used the freezing steel toilet, he could feel it’s omnipresent gaze on him. Out of everything that had been ripped out from his control, this one thing felt like something he could hold dominion over. No matter what, his captors wouldn’t see him cry. He silently promised himself, his father, his . . . his mother, that he wouldn’t cry.

And in that moment, though he didn’t quite recognize the significance of it then, it felt like he was letting go of something vital. Without him fully realizing, Stiles severed the last vestiges of his childhood . He was still scared, still terrified beyond belief,  but it made it all just a little bit easier to breathe. Like he was able to protect an integral part of himself by hiding it deep within his mind.

With dinner came a scratchy grey wool blanket. It smelled a bit of mildew and dust, but it was warm. Stiles still didn’t trust his captors, but it did prove to him that as long as he played along and behaved, they were willing to grant him small comforts.


	2. 12

Seven days. That’s how long Stiles had been there, in that cold little room: a week. He had quickly begun to mark the days in his head until he found a way to mark them on the wall or floor. For some reason, he felt like if he kept track of exactly how long he’d been there, he wouldn’t lose his mind. Every day was the same:

He’d wake to the flash of his lights turning back on and two men entering his room with his breakfast. Then he’d eat and wash up in the sink as best as he could—he had asked the men about taking a shower but neither had responded. Stiles would pace around his room— _ cell— _ restlessly or try to keep his mind occupied with something that didn’t touch on his mom or his current situation. Lunch came, the men ignored him. Again, he tried in vain to entertain himself in the long hours that stretched on between lunch and dinner. He ate dinner, setting his tray by his door. The lights would go out, Stiles would fall asleep and at some point in the night, the tray would disappear.

The only thing that changed, were the men who brought him his meals—so far Stiles had seen seven different men—and sometimes the meals themselves varied a little. All of the men had a similar look or way about them: they were all roughly between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, all of them appeared Caucasian, the ones who actually spoke all seemed to have a thick accent, they all seemed to be in pretty good shape, and every single one of them looked at Stiles like he was something vile on the sole of their boots.

Stiles also kept thinking about the man who had taken him. He hadn’t seen him again, but he couldn’t help but think about the trick he did to Stiles’ hands. He wasn’t sure if he was just so distraught in that moment that he hallucinated, but that didn’t seem quite right. Either way, he wasn’t brave enough to try to ask .

Things only  _ really _ changed on the eighth day. When he was brought breakfast, instead of leaving as soon as they set down his tray, his captors stayed. They didn’t say anything—as usual—they just watched Stiles expectantly, waiting for him to eat. Not sure what else to do, he grabbed his tray, sat on his bed, and ate while trying to pretend he wasn’t being closely watched. There was an atmosphere of tension so thick it seemed to coagulate in the air. Fingers of fear began to dig into Stiles’ stomach.

The moment he set his spoon down, the man in the doorway spoke.

“Get up, it’s time.”  _ Time? Time for what?! _

_ “ _ I don’t suppose you’re inclined to  _ tell _ me where we’re going?” Stiles blurted out in a panic. The man grumbled deep in his chest and strode clear across the room in two strides, grabbed Stiles upper arm in a bruising grip and hauled him right up out of the bed as if he weighed nothing. The boy scrambled to get his feet under him as the one who still had a hold on his arm began walking, pulling Stiles along. The other man in the room let them pass out into the hallway before following closely behind them.

Stiles didn’t dare struggle, even as he felt his fingers begin to go numb with the large meaty hand cutting off his circulation. He bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself from blurting out more gibberish in his fear-clouded mind. Instead, he speed-walked over the freezing cement floors of the hallway and t ried to absorb every detail of his surroundings. Cement floors, cement walls, cement ceilings, no windows, and . . .  _ doors _ ? All along the hallway that led to his own cell, were identical white doors with a steel flap covering the little windows and a large black number painted on the fronts. He didn’t know the number painted on his own door, but that was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment.

With every turn they took or branching hallway they passed; the more Stiles’ heart sank into his gut as he got a peek at just how big the building they were in, really was. He didn’t see an exit or even a window, and all the doors they passed after that first hallway were numberless and had keypad-locks.

They finally came to a stop at a door and the man who’d been following them stepped up to type the passcode into the keypad. Unfortunately, his broad frame purposefully blocked the keypad from sight so Stiles couldn’t see the code— _ not like he really had a chance to try the code on any other doors. _ The door opened, Stiles was pulled through and he was suddenly hit with a blast of fresh air. It almost tasted sweet after over a week breathing stale artificially cold air.  _ Was that sunlight?! _ Golden morning rays filled the enclosed courtyard with warmth. But he didn’t see trees or distant buildings, for the area they had entered was a large yard walled in by at least three stories of cement building and windows on the upper-most floor.

Stiles wanted to bask in the sudden gift of being outside, but all thoughts of robin’s egg blue skies were ripped away when he was harshly pushed into a shoulder to shoulder line of other boys. At least ten of them stood there, looking equally confused and terrified. Most had dark circles under their eyes and several reeked of the sour scent of unwashed pubescent bodies. And that was what clearly set Stiles apart from the line, while all the other boys looked to be between thirteen and fourteen, Stiles was the only one who hadn’t even come close to puberty. He was by far the youngest, and all the others seemed to notice that as well.

No one spoke to each other, not with the ring of fifteen men standing a few paces behind them, watching. But that didn’t stop them from looking. Looking at each other, trying to silently communicate with little success. Although it was a rather morbid thought, Stiles was just relieved that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know any of these boys, but their shared circumstances fostered the beginnings of hope in Stiles. Hope that he wouldn’t lose his mind in that place, and perhaps hope that he wouldn’t die.

His thoughts were cut short when the doors opened again and another teenager—this one looking perhaps fifteen—was dragged out by two men holding each of his arms as he struggled violently in their grasps and cursed at his captors. He was lanky, probably the tallest of their line, but he was clearly outmatched against the two men, as it seemed they didn’t even work up a sweat dragging the writhing and kicking boy along. He was brought to Stiles’ other side, but this time the guards stayed, holding him still.

A man had entered in after them, and Stiles had thought he was just another guard to help with the unruly captive, but there was a way about him. Like the very air around him was forced into subservience, something dangerous paced behind his coal-black eyes. He was also older—older than anyone he’d seen at that awful place so far—probably in his mid-sixties with the deep lines in his face and his neatly crew-cut silver hair. However, despite his age the man was large and muscular, and the way he walked was  _ too _ agile for someone his age. The man stalked before the line of boys, hard eyes piercing each of them individually.

The way he held himself, the man was fear incarnate, and Stiles was  _ terrified _ .

“You twelve have been chosen.” His voice was rough, with an almost guttural hum between his words. He—like all the others—had an accent, but he also spoke the clearest English. “You have been liberated from your mediocre base lives and brought here to take part in something . . .  _ transcendent _ . You will become gods among men. You will learn our sacred ways and bring about a new Eden for our kind. You will be freed from your weak human bodies and be reborn as warriors.”

As he spoke, Stiles caught a flash of light behind the man’s eyes before he blinked and suddenly, they were a vivid glowing amber. He heard a few boys to his right gasp, but he’d already seen eyes like those, from the man who had taken him, from the man who currently stood somewhere behind him amongst the others.

“This world does not belong to the humans; it belongs to  _ us!” _ he growled and in the space between one blink and the next, the man before them melted away and in its place was a huge beast of white, orange, and black fur. Stiles and the other boys stumbled back in shock and fear.  _ A tiger.  _ But it didn’t look like any normal tiger. It was at least twice the size, with its height on four legs being about as tall as Stiles was on two. Then, as if Stiles could get any more petrified, it released an eardrum-bursting roar, echoed by the throats of the men behind them.

Distantly, Stiles was thankful he’d already emptied his bladder that morning before breakfast.

Once the group of trembling boys were sufficiently terrified, a man walked around them with a pair of sweatpants held in his hand, holding it out for the tiger.

“For you, Commander.” and just like that, the tiger was rising up and seamlessly forming back into a man— _ a naked man _ —who gave the other man a short nod and slipped on the pants.

“What you have just seen, is what you will become. It is a gift, one that you will cherish and in return for my generosity, you will give me your lives. You will become the mantel in which a new world will be built upon. Crusaders in the war against humanity’s insidious existence. The children of a new world order. Today, you will be reborn.” he spread his arms wide in a show of grandeur, smiling at them without really seeing their horror. The boy to the left of Stiles began to fight again, much harder this time.

“But first, we must take care of something before you transcend.” The Commander waved up someone from behind them that was carrying a metal tray of some kind, and he set it down on a table that was set up behind the Commander that Stiles hadn’t noticed before. Two chairs sat adjacent to each other at the corner of the table and the man sat down and started fiddling with different machines, latex gloves, alcohol and cotton pads.

“Since you’re so eager, you can go first.” The Commander smiled at the boy to Stiles’ left, looking amused and manic as the older boy was dragged forward, cursing and kicking the whole way to the chair. Stiles felt like he was going to be ill when the buzzing of the tattoo needle started up. Another guard had to come up and grab the boy’s right arm while the other two held him down in his chair. The third man roughly slammed the boy’s arm on the table and pried his closed fist open, pinning his fingers to the table so that the man with the tattoo gun could access his bare palm.

The boy’s curses soon transformed into pained grunts and half-choked whimpers as a large  **_ 01 _ ** was slowly stabbed into his palm in black ink. It felt like an eternity before he was finally done and being dragged back into line. This time, he didn’t speak and the men didn’t have to drag him, but Stiles could see the hate and resilience still burning in his eyes. A boy on the other end of the line tried to run for the door. He became  **_ 02. _ ** They continued down the line from that end. Each boy pushed or dragged over to the chair, where they sat and shouted over the excruciating pain. Many of them broke down in sobs halfway through, one boy cried silently as he glared at the man with the needle through his tears—that was  **_ 08 _ ** .

The boy to Stiles’ right had resigned himself to his fate and approached the chair on his own, head bowed and hands trembling in fear. His sobs had been the most painful to listen to, because they were not borne of pain or frustration; no, they came entirely from sorrow. Stiles wished he could somehow comfort the boy, but he doubted that would be allowed, and the last thing he wanted to do was show any weakness in front of a bunch of shape-shifting lunatics.  **_ 11 _ ** returned to his side with a sniffle as he clutched his bandaged hand to his chest. It was Stiles’ turn.

As he slowly approached the chair on his own, Stiles could feel something strange happening. It was like he was on autopilot, but  _ more. _ His teeth were clamped together and it felt like Stiles might never open his mouth again. He felt distanced from his body. He heard the Commander make some kind of comment on him being the ‘runt of the litter’ but he just ignored it as he laid out his palm for the man with a tattoo gun in his hand. When the needle first stabbed deep into his hand Stiles felt it wholly but for the first time in a week, he allowed his thoughts to drift to his mom. It was a reminder. A reminder as a mix of blood and ink welled up on his palm and was wiped away again and again, that no matter how much it hurt, no matter what physical pain these men put him through, it would never compare to the pain of being in that hospital room as the machines screamed and her heart fell silent.

He desperately hung onto that thought to keep his tongue still and his eyes dry as his skin was permanently marked by his captors.

When it was over, his hand was radiating with pain from the golf-ball sized  **_ 12 _ ** inked into his right hand. Stiles silently stood from his chair, briefly catching the Commander’s gaze as he passed. His eyes were narrowed yet curious. Stiles wanted to jam that tattoo gun into the Commander’s eye. When he returned to his spot in line, 01 was watching him as well. Though, there was nothing curious or impressed in his narrowed gaze.

“Now, it is time for your rebirth.” The Commander proclaimed with a grin. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck and clamped down, holding him in place as the Commander once again transformed into a growling snarling beast. From his periphery he could see the other boys being held in place in a similar way, noises of protest and fear rising from their throats unbidden.

All too soon, the Commander was on 02 and raking his huge claws down the boy’s outer thigh. Blood oozed and the boy screamed his throat raw in agony. Another guard began to wrap gauze around 02’s leg as the Commander clawed the next in line. 02 passed out and was carried away through the door they had come through. Each boy, one after the next, had their outer thigh torn open on thick white claws, bandaged and were carried out of the courtyard as they screamed.

This time, when the pain hit Stiles as his flesh tore, he could not even try to keep quiet. A strangled scream tore at his throat with vicious talons and he clawed uselessly at the hand on his throat with blunt fingernails. For the first time since Stiles was dragged into that dark van, he fought. He kicked at the hand trying to keep his leg still so it could bandage him, he jabbed his elbows into the hard abdomen behind him and tried to reach up and gouge out the eyes of the man holding him. Only the remaining guards, the Commander, and 01 witnessed his rabid violence, but no one really paid attention to the struggling child.

Stiles had managed to kick the guard knelt before him hard enough to cause a sickening  _ crack _ to come from his nose. Not a second later, the same man shot up from the ground and with a furious growl, backhanded Stiles so hard across the face it knocked the breath from his lungs and blacked out his vision for several moments. His thoughts turned into syrup, dripping down the inside of his skull as the world swam before him. He vaguely felt himself being carelessly tossed over someone's shoulder and the sticky wet feeling of blood slowly soaking his pantleg. They hadn’t bothered with the bandages. Through the ringing in his ears, Stiles picked up on the conversation being had around him as they walked back to his cell.

“I don’t get it, why bother with a brat so young? There’s no chance he’ll survive the change.”

Someone snorted.

“No, but  Demitri said the kid practically fell into their laps and the Commander thought he’d be an interesting experiment. If he  _ does _ survive somehow, he’ll be good practice for the others.” the other scoffed.

The last thing Stiles heard before succumbing to the darkness, was the man holding him curse and complaining about the blood staining his shirt.

* * *

Stiles was plunged into a fever-sleep. Startling lucid and terrifying dreams about his life before and his life now at the compound. Visions of feline maws dripping with blood and a never-ending cement complex. Flashes of a hospital room and his mother’s body laying still when two massive paws rip through her pale chest and splatter crimson on the unmoving doctors. Between the dreams came hazy moments of consciousness that lasted only long enough for Stiles to feel the pain of his wounds and the chilling ache of a fever before slipping back under the inky surface.

Sometimes, in those fleeting moments of clarity, he caught snippets of conversation and briefly felt a hand checking his temperature or changing the bandages around his leg.

“-won’t make it. We’ve already had two succumb to the change, we can’t lose anymore before we’ve even started-” A stern voice interrupted him.

“The weak need to be culled from our ranks. If he dies, we will just find another. . .”

“-heard? Number 01 has finally accepted the change, joining the others.”

“Which just leaves-. . .”

“-never seen it take this long. But he’s not dying, surely that means something?”

“. . . We’ll see. . .”

Through the darkness and the fever, Stiles felt something approach. It prowled just outside of his senses, scenting him and drawing ever closer. Stiles tried to find it, but it always evaded him. He had to let it come to him on its own. As he slipped from nightmare to nightmare, he could feel each step it took, like a whisper on the back of his neck. It followed him, loyally, obsessively. And then, as he waited in the darkness for a new horror to begin, he saw two glowing eyes light up before him, the call of two brilliant beacons. But they did not look like the Commanders, they were not a rich hungry amber. They were not a blood-stained gold.

Through the shadows, two feline eyes pierced through him with their pale sage green luminescence.

* * *

The moment he awoke Stiles could feel that something was off. Like someone had ripped away his skin and then sewn it back on backwards. His nose burned painfully from overstimulation and he wanted to tear his eyes out before he’d even opened them. He stretched his stiff body with a sigh and regrettably sat up. Even still half asleep, there was a restlessness itching in his bones. He was familiar with feeling antsy and unable to focus, but this felt different. Instead of an empty jitteriness, it felt like something large and purposeful had taken its place. He wanted to pace the length of his room because he wished to  _ run. _ He kept sniffing the air because  he couldn’t smell anything past the burning in  his nose and it was driving him crazy!

As he easily gave into his urges and  prowled the room, another matter made itself known. He was  _ hungry _ .  He wanted a whole rotisserie chicken and a large pizza to himself kind of hungry! The kind of  hunger that  _ hurt _ . His mouth was watering and all he could do was stare at the door as he paced, waiting for his next meal to come.

He heard the footsteps long before they stopped at his door. The door opened, revealing only one man who was unfortunately not holding a tray of food. He seemed shocked to see Stiles waiting right on the other side of the door, but Stiles didn’t care.

“ _ Food.” _ Stiles growled basely, the burning in his nose had cleared when the door opened and a more organic smell was introduced to the clinically-clean room. Stiles could smell the man’s breakfast where the scent had clung to his clothes and it was all he could focus on.

“Come, the others are eating right now.” The guard finally said when he’d fully taken in the boy. Stiles hardly heard him, but followed closely when the man turned and began walking back the way he had come. The man continued to talk as they walked. “From now on, you will eat all of your meals with the others. Tigers are not pack or pride animals, but cubs such as yourselves still need to socialize to gain a better control of your other half. It’s also good for your tiger to become familiar with the other’s scents, so that you don’t try to kill each other when you shift.” He said passively as they approached a set of double doors.

The reminder of what had happened in the courtyard and  _ why _ Stiles had just awoken from a fever dream dampened his hunger. Now that he thought about it, his leg was no longer a mess of mauled flesh. He felt his thigh briefly through the new draw-string pants as the guard punched in the key code.  _ Did that mean he’s a monster like the Commander? What even  _ is _ the Commander anyway? _ The doors opened and an aroma of food wafted out, drawing Stiles in.

The room appeared to be a cafeteria, but there was only one long table where nine other boys sat with a ring of at least ten armed guards around them. It was the first-time since he’d been kidnapped that Stiles had seen anyone with a gun—though, if all of the adults were the same kind of tiger-man-thing that the Commander was, he supposed they hadn’t needed guns when they were all human.

Eight pairs of eyes immediately landed on Stiles as he slowly approached. 01, sitting furthest from the others on the other end of the table, was the only one to not look up. He was the only one that continued to mindlessly shovel food into his mouth, while the others had paused to stare at him. The  youngest’s nostrils flared as he scented the air, taking in the familiar aromas of food, and the less familiar scents of each boy before him. After a few silent moments, the thing lurking behind his senses seemed satisfied with what he smelled, and Stiles felt his rigid posture relax slightly and he sat down in the closest chair.

Unlike all the other meals he’d had there the food wasn’t individually portioned onto trays, instead it was all laid out on the table buffet-style. Which meant that a lot of the grilled chicken had already been devoured and what was left for Stiles was a good amount of rice and some grilled vegetables with a few scraps of chicken. Before Stiles probably would have just been happy to have enough food to fill himself. Now, however, as he dug into his food, he could feel an unsatisfied pit forming in his stomach: much like that first day there when he filled his stomach with water to ease his hunger.

No one spoke as they ate, obviously the presence of the guns not ten feet from their vulnerable backs left everyone reluctant to even chew too loudly. It only seemed to heighten the air of wrongness circulating around them. Even in the large cafeteria a part of Stiles felt caged. All he could do was hunch his shoulders and stare straight at his meal. For all he knew, it could be his last.

Stiles was so focused on trying to quickly finish off his portions, that he was startled by the grilled chicken breast being set carefully on his plate. Eyes wide, Stiles followed the retreating hand to the boy sat across from him, who flashed him a timid smile before looking back down at his own meal. Stiles kept staring at the other. He was willowy with thick curly brown hair, almond-shaped hazel eyes, and ears that stuck out a bit but seemed to suit the boy anyways. But in that moment, he could have looked like the back end of a pig and he would have had stars in his eyes. Stiles absolutely beamed at the other boy, choosing to ignore their grim surroundings, he cherished the token show of kindness in that hellhole.

He savored every bite of his chicken, making sure to grin again any time the other boy glanced at him.

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked eagerly the moment he’d swallowed his last bite. Several boys—including the one he’d asked—immediately cringed or flinched at his question, casting hesitant glances to the guards glaring them down. The boy gave Stiles a meaningful look when he spoke.

“Six.” He held up his tattooed palm for Stiles to see.  _ So, they’re not allowed to use their real names _ . Stiles tried to not let his smile waver when he held up his own palm.

“I’m twelve, then!” 06 was still holding up his hand, so Stiles reached across the table and gave the other a high-five to abate a bit of the stiffness and tension lingering in the air. 06 began to smile again but it faltered when 01 at the other end of the table abruptly  stood,  grumbling something about ‘noisy.’ He then  left his tray where it was and  strode word lessly over to a guard. 01 was escorted out of the cafeteria. 06 and a few others seemed to shrink under 01’s glare as he passed and everything about it rubbed Stiles the wrong way.

Unconsciously, Stiles straightened up in his seat and a foreign rumble began to hum in his chest. It's like his body was screaming ‘ _ challenge’ _ while his human mind was frantically trying to remind his body that he was, in fact, only ten. Thankfully, 01 didn’t seem to hear him and left without a backwards glance. Impulse control certainly wasn’t Stiles’ strong suit, but he’d have to learn quick if he was going to survive this place.


	3. The Collar

It had been almost a full week after Stiles had woken up from being mauled by a tiger-man and in that time, Stiles hadn’t learned much else about his situation. He’d been able to have a few hushed conversations with 06 during meals, but the guards didn’t like them to make a ruckus and would occasionally yell at them to pipe down. What he _had_ learned, though, was that they had been turned into supernatural shapeshifters —though the only other form they could take was a tiger. Stiles had mentally linked it to the idea of ‘werewolves’ and had asked if they were like ‘ weretigers ’ but 06 had explained that the Commander didn’t like that title since it was ‘ _a product of mindless pop culture and demeaning to their kind._ ’ Stiles thought the man was the ultimate hypocrite because it didn’t get any more ‘demeaning’ than being given numbers instead of names. 

He also learned that he had been the last one to be taken, and all the other boys had been in the compound for a few weeks or even a month before Stiles arrived. Stiles couldn’t imagine spending weeks locked in his room with his only company being the hostile guards that brought him food every day. Though, he supposed that explained why the others had all looked a lot more haggard and defeated when he’d first seen them. 

The last thing Stiles had learned, was that 05 and 02 hadn’t survived the transformation. Stiles hadn’t known how to respond to that news. 

The day after he awoke, something truly wonderful happened. Stiles, along with the other nine, were all escorted to a communal shower room and finally able to properly wash up. Not even the presence of several armed guards could dampen Stiles smile as he claimed a stall and stripped down for a shower. A half-wall between each shower-head protected most of his body from view, so he knew that the guards couldn’t see anything, and he didn’t mind if the boys that passed behind him saw him. He was a pale, stringy kid: there wasn’t anything to see. 

The water had been hot, the bar of soap unobtrusive to his newly sensitive nose, and the guards gave them a whole twenty minutes under the spray before yelling at them to get on with it. After that, they were brought back to the showers every two days to clean up. Over all, the regular showers were a mercy to everyone's noses. But even that wasn’t enough to keep tensions from rising. There was always this overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and the loaded guns pointed at their heads certainly didn’t help. 

It was practically inevitable that a fight would break out, and it surprised no one that 01 was the one to start it. 03 had lost his temper and snapped at 01 for yet again taking three servings of meat at lunch. 01 had launched across the table like he'd just been waiting for a reason to do so, ready to gouge out 03’s eyes with a spork when both boys received a hard jab of the butt of a rifle to the back of the head before being dragged away. They weren’t brought back for dinner or breakfast the next morning. Neither boy was seen until breakfast the following day and they didn’t so much as cough as they greedily scarfed down their food. 

That had made two things abundantly clear for the rest of them. Firstly, their captors had no qualms with hurting kids to keep them in line. Secondly, they were also willing to withhold food as a means of punishment. All in all, it spelled trouble for them. 

* * *

“Now that you have had some time to settle in, it’s time to move on.” The Commander announced proudly as he paced before them. They weren’t in the courtyard like last time—which eased Stiles’ nerves only a sliver—they had been lined up in what looked to be some sort of industrial-foyer. Branching arterial hallways behind them, and a set of massive steel doors before them. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if those doors were a foot thick, they looked like the doors to a bank vault. 

“You have survived the rebirth, but now we must see who will take their first steps and who will crumble. Shift.” It was an order, not a request. The Commander was searching for weakness and he wouldn’t hesitate to attack if he found any. Down the line, Stiles heard shuffling and grunts of concentration as they all tried to immediately appease the waiting beast before them. Stiles followed suit and turned his focus inward—and it was there. Like finally surfacing raging waters after endless drowning, it felt easier than breathing. Between one breath and the next, Stiles was melting into a flesh that felt like _home._

_“Yes! That’s it!_ The little one has it!” The Commander laughed, sounding surprised. 

Stiles was on all fours. The fur was warm. His senses were sharper. The movement of his spine felt like water as he walked in a tight circle and his tail swayed languidly behind him. His thoughts felt looser and his instincts rose up to fill in the gaps. As the others began to jerkily and painfully fall into their other forms, Stiles could immediately see a difference between him and the others. For starters, he was by far the smallest of them all, by at least a foot. Also, the coloring of his fur seemed a bit different. While the others were mostly identical in their orange, white, and black striped coats Stiles seemed to sport mostly black fur with a dark orange belly and a bit of white on his chest. Obviously, Stiles couldn’t see his own face, but with how dark the rest of his fur was, he was pretty sure his face would be as well. 

_Maybe it’s because he’s the youngest? Like how baby penguins are all fluffy and grey, only getting their full colors when they’re adults?_ Honestly, Stiles didn’t really know anything about tigers, so who’s to say? 

“I-I-I'm s-sorry, I c . . . I can’t!” Stiles was pulled from his self-examination by the commotion. His gut dropped like a stone when he turned to see what was going on. 

06 was practically sobbing where he stood, the Commander towering over his thin frame and glaring down at him. 

“Force it to obey you, six. You are the master, don’t let it control you.” The Commander barked, rapidly losing his patience. 06’s face twisted with effort as he tried to do as he was told, but he didn’t do it fast enough. The Commander sighed and turned to one of the nearby guards. “Iron collar.” He held out his hand expectantly and not a moment later a thick band of metal was placed in his grasp. The Commander pulled a small black device from his pocket and tapped the collar with it. The seamless band clicked and opened down the middle in two semi-circles. 

In the blink of an eye, the metal band was snapped around 06’s neck. The collar looked just large enough for 06 to slip his head through, but he was never given the chance. The agonized scream that erupted from 06’s throat was one Stiles wasn’t likely to ever forget. With a worried little churr, Stiles leapt past the others as his fast-made friend dropped to the floor. All he could do was press his nose to 06’s cheek, stand protectively over his prone form, and try to sooth the boy with the noises spilling forth from his throat. All the while, 06 continued to scream and sob himself hoarse as his bones slowly cracked and reformed in a different position, fur sprouted from his pores, his fingernails were ripped from their spongy beds and replaced by thick white claws, and his shouts slowly became feline in nature but no less painful to witness. 

By the time the transformation was done, 06 was wheezing on the ground and showed no signs of getting back up. Stiles licked his friend’s cheek and pressed his nose to the thick fur of his neck. He wasn’t fully sure what he was doing at the time, but he knew he had to comfort his friend in any way he could. 

“Now,” the Commander went on, as if nothing had happened. “You will all be fitted with collars of your own.” As he spoke, several men stepped forward with identical iron collars for each of them. 01 immediately snarled and backed away, but the barrel of a gun pressed to his skull kept him from doing anything else as his own collar was snapped into place. Stiles reluctantly accepted his own, knowing there was no reason to fight. 

“As I'm sure you have gathered, these collars are rather _special._ They bind you in this form, keeping you from trying to change back. It will be the fastest and easiest way to get you all acquainted with this side of yourselves. They can only be removed by this,” he warned them, holding up the black device that opened the collars, “and any attempt at removing the collars yourselves will result in iron barbs releasing into your necks to keep them on. They also have a GPS tracker in each of them. I mention this, because you will not be _here_ during that time. You will be out there.” He said, gesturing towards the doors behind him. They all perked up at that. 

“Don’t get too excited cubs. Out there is forty square miles of forest that are surrounded by a thirty-foot electric fence. There is no way over it or under it, and we will know if you get within twenty-feet. This is to test your resilience and bond to your tiger. You will fend for yourselves, feed yourselves, and protect yourselves. There is plenty of wildlife, vegetation, and water out there for you all to survive. It is up to _you_ to survive. If you are starving or sick, we will not help you. If you’re hurt or in danger, we will not intervene. If you die, it does not matter.” 

The more he spoke, the more nervous they all became. Surviving on their own? In a forest? And there was one question on the tips of all of their tongues— _for how long?_ They didn’t have to wait for an answer though. 

“Return in exactly one year. We will not open these doors again any sooner unless we absolutely have to. If you survive the year and return, you will be ready for what comes next.” 

No, that can’t be right. He must have miss-spoke. English isn’t his first language after all. Right? It can’t be a whole year. It can’t be. There's no way he’ll survive! He's the smallest, he’s a kid! He doesn’t know anything about living on his own. He'll never make it! 

06 shakily pushed up onto his feet and tucked Stiles’ head under his chin. 06 was still unsteady on his feet, but he’d decided it was his turn to offer the comfort. 

_Not completely alone. . ._

* * *

Stiles’ second breath of fresh air since being abducted was soured by an overwhelming sense of dread. _One year._ He had to survive in the woods on his own for _one year!_ It had to be impossible. There's no way they expected a ten-year-old to be able to live in the forest unprotected for an entire year. It's just some twisted way to kill them off for their own entertainment. He didn’t have time to dwell as they were already being herded out of the open doors and into the dense tree line just a few paces from the concrete structure. 

The doors closed and locked behind them. None of them dared to step any further from the building as they simmered in their shock and horror. Except 01 of course. The largest of them all pushed past a few frozen bodies, lifting a black lip and snarling in annoyance. 01 swaggered past them all and entered the thicket with a confidence unknown to the younger boys. Stiles couldn’t say he was surprised. Stiles didn’t want to separate from their group at all, but he was almost relieved 01 had elected to go off on his own. Even if he was the oldest and likely had the best idea of how to survive out there, Stiles didn’t trust him not to try to eat one of them in their sleep! 

_Okay. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but in this new world of_ _shapeshifters_ _and magic and kidnappers, all bets were off!_

Stiles made a soft chuffing-noise to get the attention of the others. He couldn’t talk and they certainly couldn’t read each other’s minds, so all he could do was try to make sounds with his strange new throat and hope they got the idea. With the others’ eyes on him, he swung his head in the direction opposite of where 01 had walked off in and took a few steps. To his dismay, only a few started to follow. Stiles stopped and whined at the others who looked like they wanted to stay planted right in front of the doors. 

As much as he also wished he could just sit by the doors until they opened again, that wouldn’t be for another _year_. They needed food, water, shelter. And their best bet at surviving was not splitting up. The Commander said that there was plenty of wildlife out there, which could include anything from bears to wolves to raddle snakes! There was safety in numbers. 

One of the tigers by the doors plopped resolutely onto his hindquarters, but Stiles wasn’t giving up that easily. Stiles was easily the smallest but that didn’t stop him from snarling, leaping the distance between them, and harshly clamping his sharp teeth down on the back one of their necks. The effect was instantaneous as the larger animal snarled and tried to jerk out of his jaws. Stiles let them go but followed it with a swipe of his claws. He purposefully missed, but if had caused the other to jump back anyways. A few more swipes and snaps of his teeth had the cat moving in the direction Stiles had been walking before and it didn’t take long for the other to realize what he was trying to do. 

The other growled threateningly, but after a few burning glares sent his way, the other began reluctantly walking towards the others. Stiles looked at the other stubborn tigers pointedly and eventually they followed. It wasn’t much, but the fact that they didn’t have to leave anyone behind as they entered the forest was a huge weight off his shoulders. Whatever they faced, they faced it together. 

* * *

For hours they walked through the endless forest. Over hills, around cliffs, and down steep mountain-sides. It was clear that most of them were nervous about wandering so far from the compound, but the Commander had said there was GPS in their collars. When the year was up, they would have a way of tracking them down. Besides, in a year’s time, they’d probably become familiar enough with the forest to find their way back when the time came. Stiles just hoped he’d learned enough from the few camping trips he’d taken with his dad to live to see tomorrow. 

One of the others— _the only one Stiles recognized with certainty was 06, having become more familiar with the boys’ scent over the last week than any of the others—_ eventually took up the front and began leading them, his nostrils flaring and retracting as he seemingly searched for something. Stiles wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but they all followed him none the less. Stiles himself had caught the occasional scent of animals amongst the underbrush, but they never saw any as they walked besides the birds flitting between branches overhead. 

There wasn’t much of a breeze down in the overgrowth, and the humidity of the late summer’s day was trapped in by the canopy of leaves overhead creating an infernal sauna in the forest as they walked. Stiles was absolutely cooking in his fur and his tongue had lolled out to pant hours ago. The others all seemed to be in a similar state as they walked, moving lethargically. However, the moment the tiger at the front of their group had found what he was looking for, the moment they all heard the distant hush of rushing water, the whole group broke out into a sprint. 

_A river!_ Shallow and narrow, but so blissfully cool as their tongues lapped up the water and it soaked into their fur. The water tasted of minerals and soil, but he didn’t care. It was a merciful balm to their thirst and the heat. The group took a long rest by—or _in_ —the stream, soaking in the relief of having found a source of water before nightfall. 

As wonderful as the find was, there was another problem that arose in their minds. Yes, they had a fresh stream to drink from, but it was shallow and weak therefore: no fish. None of them knew how to hunt land-animals yet, but fish were confined to the water and likely much easier to catch. And so, after they had all rested and cooled their over-heated bodies in the stream, the same tiger that had led them to the stream eventually stood up and began walking along the bank of the water, moving up-stream, and they all followed. 

By dusk they’d found where the stream had split off from a larger river and the scent of fish was ripe in the air. Despite their best efforts, no one managed to catch a fish once night fell, but they had _found_ them. With that in mind and the promise of tomorrow, the group of nine made beds of leaves and spongy moss. They were all hungry, but hopeful as they went to sleep that first night. 

* * *

Those first few days in the forest had been a series of constant trials and failures. They eventually caught a few fish, but they were small and wouldn’t even fill one belly, much less nine. Nonverbally, it was decided that half of them would continue to try to catch fish in the river, while the other half would wander into the trees to try to either catch small prey or find some other source of food. Stiles opted to hunt in the forest, since he figured his darker fur and smaller body would help him move around more stealthily. Besides, he had been complete crap at fishing with his claws or teeth, and he figured that it’d be more useful to know how to hunt once winter came and the lakes froze and fish moved to warmer water. 

It was the same tiger that had led them to the river that took up the lead-role in the hunting party. Which, once they realized their tattoos showed up on the large soft pad of their paw, Stiles discovered that it had been 04. He didn’t remember much about the boy from their brief time together as humans, just that he was quieter than the others and had fine chestnut-colored hair. Thankfully, it seemed the boy had some outdoor experience as he continued to lead them through the wilderness. 

Fortunately, 04 seemed to have already thought of how they would hunt with their apparent inexperience. They weren’t fast enough on their new legs to give proper chase, and they weren’t stealthy enough to prowl through the underbrush. So, instead 04 taught them how to climb the trees and jump down on prey or find eggs in their nests. Once they had all practiced and proven that they could successfully use their claws and the power of their legs to propel themselves up a tree and jump back down, they all spread out, picked a tree, and waited. 

The tiger side of Stiles seemed endlessly pleased that they were finally hunting for food, its insatiable hunger burning away at his insides. Stiles was more than a little disgusted by the idea of having to eat anything raw and bloody, but he tried his best not to think about it until the moment came. Afterall, survival came first and he wasn’t just hunting food for himself, he was also doing it for the others. Like 06, who had continued to struggle to take up any of the instincts or mannerisms of his tiger. He could tell that he and his tiger weren’t compatible at all and the upcoming year would be hardest on him of all of them. Stiles felt fluidly in-tune with his tiger, the instincts were more natural than his human ones, but for all intents and purposes 06 was a full human boy trapped in the unfamiliar body of a tiger. 

Stiles was drawn from his internal worries by the musk of fur and sound of softly thumping feet. Out from a bush hopped a mottled-brown furred rabbit. It paused and sniffed the air with a twitching nose, Stiles didn’t move or so much as blink as he watched it search for potential danger in the area. The rabbit suddenly perked and turned to look off in the other direction. Fearing it would bolt, Stiles made his move and leapt from his branch aiming for the small woodland creature. In the blink of an eye, Stiles landed on the compact earth and the rabbit was already gone, racing through the forest to get away. 

If stiles could curse, he definitely would. 

He solemnly climbed back up onto his branch to wait for his next chance. Except that none came. For hours, Stiles sat there silently waiting. He even moved to a different area and tried there. Nothing. 

By the time the sun had sunk behind the horizon and one of the others passed his tree with a rabbit of their own clamped in their teeth, Stiles was still depressingly empty-handed and his stomach was cramping with hunger. Not wanting to end up getting lost once it was dark, he jumped down from his tree and followed the other tiger back to their spot by the river. 

Between the nine of them, they had caught three rabbits and six small fish. It was honestly pathetic once all of their hard work that day was pooled together and divvied up. Stiles plopped down next to 06, who had been amongst the fishing group, with one of the smallest fishes of the batch. He felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself, but the guilt of not being able to contribute and even taking from the hard-won food kept him from wanting more. 

Stiles’ first bite of the raw dead fish was both revolting and amazing. He could tell that his taste buds as a tiger were fundamentally different as the cold meat first touched his tongue. There was something so satisfying about the taste and the crunch of thin little bones between his teeth, but his human mind was horrified by the texture and his tiger’s joy. All too soon, it was over and Stiles almost wanted to cry at how empty he still felt. 06 had even tried to offer him some of his own fish, but Stiles just shook his head and leaned into his friend’s side as he laid down fully. 

That night, sleep refused to come for Stiles. The mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and stress made him nauseas. It wasn’t until the dewy dark and cold first hours of the morning that he managed to fall into a fitful slumber. All too soon, he was awoken by the others getting up to either relieve themselves or get a head start on the day in hopes of catching more food than the day before. Stiles could see that he wasn’t the only one feeling the strain of their situation and it only made him all the more determined to succeed. While walking back out into the woods to find a tree to climb, he promised himself that he would not take food from the others that night if he couldn’t contribute something. 

And so, with that die-hard mindset, Stiles sat perched on his tree branch for hours as he waited. Tensed and poised to leap down. His muscles were near cramping when he heard it. Gentle huffing breaths, the click of hooves, a steady but quick heartbeat. This time, Stiles was ready, hardly breathing as he watched the doe meander into view and the world melted away. His mouth watered and his pulse picked up an excited rhythm. 

He watched the deer as it roamed, paused, and began eating a patch of long grass. It wasn’t right under his branch like the rabbit had been, however. But it was grazing for grass, and the next patch would take the doe even further from his tree. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He’d have to jump from his branch towards the deer and hope he could catch it with his claws on the way down. 

He waited for it to dip its head again to get more grass and then with all of his strength, he launched himself. His claws were out, reaching as far as he could on his descent, and he missed by mere inches. However, when the doe startled and bolted, he was ready. Letting his instincts take over, Stiles gave chase. Weaving between trees and leaping over logs and uneven ground, prey and predator ran as fast as their legs could take them. For both of them, it was a matter of survival. For the doe, its life was on the line; for Stiles, his _everything_ was on the line. His life. The lives of the others. His chance to eventually escape that place and return to his dad. His chance to place flowers on his mom’s grave. His chance to see Scott again. 

He roared as his gleaming ivory claws sunk into the doe’s hindquarters. With the anchor of his claws in its hide he pulled the deer back and sank his teeth deeply into the back of its neck. It shrieked awfully before he jerked his head to the side and the neck snapped between his teeth. Hot blood poured over his tongue and down his chin, he wanted to lick his chops. Panting heavily, he kept his hold on the back of its neck even after the frantic heartbeat had petered out. 

It was a long arduous journey dragging the deer back by his teeth, but the high of the hunt and his victory made it fly by. Soon enough Stiles was dragging the doe backwards into their little camp by the river and the fresh smell of blood drew the others in moments. He was oddly proud watching the others gruesomely tear into the deer, maws dripping with carrion as they desperately filled their aching bellies. If he were human and not half-starved, Stiles would have gagged at the very sight of it, but at that moment, his tiger thankfully took the reins and began to take his rightful fill of warm meat. 

The only one who didn’t eat from the deer, was 06. Though Stiles understood as 06 sat off to the side and dug into a fish. He was quickly gathering that 06 was a little different from the rest of them, he couldn’t retreat into the mindset of his tiger like they could. At least with the fish it was a familiar taste and texture— _what with sushi and all_ —so Stiles made sure to wash his bloodied fur in the river first before going to join his friend. 

Feeling full for the first time in days, Stiles decided to spend the rest of his day at the river, learning how to catch fish with 06. He didn’t manage to do much more than splash around in the water and get his fur thoroughly soaked, but 06 seemed amused by his antics and that made it worth it for Stiles. 

At the end of the day the rest had managed to catch a few more rabbits, some birds, a mole, and eight fish of varying size. With the remnants of the deer it was a fairly decent haul. It was a lot easier to fall asleep that night for all of them. 


	4. The Wall

Days turned into weeks. With time came experience. They learned better ways to capture fish and hunt prey. They left hunting in the trees behind to stalk silently through the forest. They learned to scent out an animal and follow the trail to track them down. With time, they even learned how to hunt in larger groups so that they could take down multiple prey at once.

Weeks turned into months. They couldn’t speak with words, but they figured out a way to communicate with different chuffs, snarls, and grunts. They explored the forest further and found a cliff and waterfall much further upstream. In the  cliffside was a cave that made nice shelter from storms and other predators. After 08 had nearly been mauled by a bear and 11 was run-through by the antlers of a buck they learned that they have some rather extraordinary heeling abilities—expedited by their own saliva—and that it was always wise to travel in pairs.

They worked well together and as summer slowly faded into autumn, Stiles could tell that some of the others wanted to move on and further explore the forest. They were a well-oiled machine, but they were also nine growing tigers and one of them alone could easily pick a deer clean and still have room for dessert. Big game in the area was dwindling. Eventually, they made the nonverbal decision to split. Five of them would go down river, and four would continue going up river. By then, they could all hunt and fish well enough on their own, so halving their numbers was just the smart thing to do.

Stiles, 06, 04, and 11 were the group going upstream. Stiles had proved himself to be a talented hunter early on, but he wasn’t very good at fishing. 06 was their best fisher, but couldn’t hunt at all. 11 was fast and had a great sense of smell, and 04 was still the most knowledgeable when it came to nature, so they seemed to balance each other out nicely.

After five days of traveling, they found an area not far from the river with fairly flat land and several clearing s . That was good, since deer and other large prey were likely to graze the fields and meadows. And since all that flat land seemed to be at the base of a mountain, they also found quite a few wandering goats further up the incline. They took shelter in a nearby cave that went much deeper than the last one had. Which would lend itself well to escaping the cold of the winter months to come. Stiles didn’t know  _ where _ they were exactly, but with how the seasons were progressing, he’d bet that the compound was pretty far north from Beacon Hills and the likelihood of snowfall was too large to ignore.

Unfortunately, that didn’t tell him much about their location. ‘ _ Not south’ _ wasn’t much to go on when trying to figure out where he may have been taken. For all he knew, they had smuggled him out of the country and he was somewhere in Northern Europe or Asia . Though, thoughts like that didn’t really bring him any hope so Stiles tended to push them aside and focus on the present as best as he could. 

They settled into their new spot with relative ease. They didn’t smell any other large predators around and food was abundant. For the first few weeks after the move, things were great! They only ate what they needed to preserve the local wildlife so that they could hunt all winter, and the water was always fresh and cool. 04 taught 06 which plants and berries were edible and how to find them. 06 had even come around to eating other kinds of meat, so long as it was removed from the animal before it was set in front of him. He still couldn’t stomach seeing its face while he ate.

It was when the leaves had all fallen and he could taste winter in the air, that things took a dangerous turn.

Stiles was accompanying 06 through the woods to pick the last of the late season berries. 06 had only wandered away for a moment but the moment he heard 06’s distinct panicked chuffing, Stiles bolted after him. He found 06 in a small clearing, poised low to the ground with his round ears pushed back in fear and submission as a much larger tiger snarled at him. The fact that Stiles didn’t immediately recognize the scent of the other tiger let him know exactly who it was.

Stiles jumped between the two with a vicious growl.

They had scouted the area for weeks before fully settling in. If 01 had claimed that place as his own they would have known immediately. Which meant that 01 had just wandered in from someplace else and was now trying to attack one of their group. This was  _ their _ territory, and Stiles would stand his ground. First snowfall would come any day now and it was too late to try to find another place to hunker down for the winter. They needed the food in the area, and something told him that 01 wouldn’t be willing to share.

In that form, 01 looked to be fully grown or at least near enough. Stiles was two heads shorter than him, but he didn’t back down. He'd learned a lot over the past few months. He was the best hunter of their group. He would not be cowed.

01 made the first move, launching his massive body at him. Stiles met him halfway with swiping claws and snapping teeth. 01’s fangs grazed his shoulder; the pain of the wound was blinding but Stiles didn’t falter as he raked his claws down 01’s exposed belly. They touched down and were at each other again. It was abundantly clear as they fought that 01 was stronger in every way, but Stiles was quicker. Stiles attacked and then immediately jumped back to evade 01’s retaliation. But no matter how fast or clever Stiles was, he was no match for the other and he was losing fast.

06 tried to help him by biting 01’s back leg and dragging him back a foot before he could close his jaws around Stiles’ neck, but he was easily kicked away. 01 barreled into him and his side exploded in white hot pain along with an awful  _ crack _ . As they tumbled to the ground Stiles desperately tried to pull breath into his lungs but it refused to go past his throat. He was completely disoriented, but he could feel the crushing weight lift and sharp teeth clamped down on his seizing throat.  _ God, 01 was going to kill him! _

He could feel 01 trying and failing to properly bite through the thick fur around his neck. Stiles clawed helplessly at 01’s legs and chest. Unable to really reach his flesh, 01 bit down harder and began to jerk his head back and forth. He was trying to snap his neck, Stiles realized but was helpless to stop it.

An approaching roar broke through the encroaching darkness in his vision. The teeth were torn from his throat but he didn’t really notice as his world was submerged into the unknown.

* * *

The others had managed to run 01 off, but Stiles’ encounter with him was how they all learned the hard way that wounds they inflicted on each other healed slower. The youngest spent several days confined to the back of the cave as he slowly healed his broken ribs, torn up sides and shoulder, and his heavily bruised throat. 06 stayed by his side for most of the day to continually clean his wounds, help him move around when he needed to, and even brought him plenty of fish to eat.

More than ever before, Stiles wished he could speak in that moment so he could tell 06 how grateful he was. Instead, Stiles communicated his appreciation by nuzzling into the other’s neck and side whenever he was close, and grooming the older boy when he managed to get him to lie still for a few minutes at a time without him fussing.

In the following weeks, they would occasionally catch 01’s faded scent in an area close to their camp, or the discarded remains of one of his meals. He didn’t approach them again, thankfully. Stiles really hoped it stayed that way and he just left them alone, though he wouldn’t hold his breath.

With the first snowfall came a mountain of anxiety for them all. They knew that wildlife would be scarcer from hibernation and already they were seeing less and less fish venture up from the deepest parts of the river. On top of that, with how cold the water had become, they were all reluctant to get more than their paws wet. They didn’t have hands so building a fire was impossible— _ 04 had already tried many times to get it to  _ _ work. _

As winter settled in fully over the forest, they had to abandon any attempts at fishing and focus solely on hunting large game. When the snow stuck to the ground and began to add inches each day, they changed their hunting routine even more. Every three days they would all venture out together to hunt the local deer and goat herds. They would try to get at least two large game kills before returning. It wasn’t nearly as much as they were eating before, but they would have to pace themselves to survive the winter and not totally decimate the local deer population.

Their fur was thick but it never felt like enough when they had to venture out. Without a fire to warm themselves up after going out for hours on end to hunt, it seemed that they were always cold. It reminded Stiles a lot of his first week at the compound, when his scrawny human body was constantly freezing. Honestly, Stiles would take that any day over the bone-deep chill of winter in the wilderness. Their only reprieve came at night when they retreated to the furthest corner of the cave to escape the winds and the four tigers laid down together to share body heat. Being the smallest, Stiles always ended up in the middle— _ not that he was complaining. _

That was another thing, as they spent nearly every moment together, Stiles began to grow closer to the others. They began to feel almost like older brothers and they often treated him a little different. It seemed that even without the charms of his endless chatter, he seemed to gather each of their favors. They were protective of him and he can’t say he hadn’t noticed that his shares of meat were often just a little bit larger than the others. It was comforting in a time of so much turmoil to know that they had his back. He didn’t know if that would change once they returned to the compound and were back in their human forms, but he would appreciate it while it lasted.

Even though every day was an endless fight for survival, it came with an unexpected positive. Without the constant eyes of cameras and the presence of guns and aggression, they felt freer than they had since being taken. On rare occasions, they were even able to let loose and play around. Splashing in the rivers during the summer, barreling through leaf piles in the fall, and pushing each other into snowbanks in the winter. They chased each other and play-fought to expend restless energy during the days between hunting trips when they were confined to the cave.

As the winter progressed, they smelled traces of 01 less and less, setting all of their minds at ease.

Curiously, Stiles discovered that as more time passed, he felt less of a distinction between the  _ tiger _ and  _ him. _ They were one and the same. It wasn’t a separate being that had been merged into Stiles’ body and mind, it was something that was  _ borne _ of him. It manifested and acted on all of the thoughts and desires that hid in his subconscious. In some ways, it could be seen as his truest self. To be bound in such a form for months on end was disorienting but undeniably freeing.

He didn’t have to think and worry over his words or the perceptions of others. If he was hungry, he ate. If he was lonely, he sought comfort from the others. It was a beautifully simple life, and as they began to see the snow receding, Stiles wasn’t sure if he was willing to give it up come summer. Being in that form was just  _ easier. _ In the woods, he was one of the strongest predators out there and food was always abundant. If he was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t really opposed to the idea of spending the rest of his years chasing deer, lazing in the long grass, and diving after plump fish.

Because, in the forest he at least knew what his future held and he had relative control over it.

At the compound . . . every day was a new horror. He never knew when he’d make the wrong move and get a bullet in the head, or if his clever mouth would land him in some trouble. He didn’t know what the Commander had planned for them, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. What if that crazy old man was into supernatural-kid-trafficking? Or tiger-fighting for bored billionaires? What if they were being groomed to become killers? Stiles couldn’t help but remember that first speech the Commander gave all those months ago. Something about how terrible and weak humans were and how amazing  _ ‘their kind’ _ was. Sounded like some classic bullcrap propaganda to Stiles.

But no matter how much Stiles yearned for that simpler life, he knew it wasn’t possible. The heavy iron collars circling each of their necks wouldn’t allow it. If he refused to return when they were called back, at best the Commander would hunt him down using the GPS in the collar and take him back by force, and at worst they’d decide he wasn’t worth the effort and deploy the barbs encased within the collar and let him bleed out.

Besides. If he had any chance of escaping, he’d have to do it when the collar was removed. He wanted that simpler life, but more than that . . .  _ he wanted to go home. . . _

* * *

The arrival of spring to the forest was a gift. The trees sprouted new buds of viridian in their eager homecoming and the birds sang their hymns to nature each morning. The air smelt sugary with dewy sweet grass growing in the fields and the heavy spring showers rose the rivers and brought up more fish for the four felines.

Stiles rose with the sun each morning and exuded boundless energy until it sank beyond the horizon. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one feeling restless after being cooped up in the cave all winter and the others were more than happy to indulge the youngest in plenty of play fights and tumbles through the long grass.

And to say that food was abundant would be a  _ massive _ understatement. At one point, he and 04 even managed to take down a lone bear and drag it back to camp. Even 06 had been impressed with Stiles, thoroughly grooming him after he had feasted on his prize—Stiles had been preening the whole time and he could practically feel the amusement rolling off of 06.

Once it had warmed up enough, Stiles had convinced 04 with various pleading looks and whines to take him out to go exploring. Stiles figured the older boy finally gave in because he knew Stiles’ curiosity would eventually get the better of him, and at least 04 would know how to find their way back to camp once they left.

They left at dawn, using large boulders in the river to cross it, since they had never actually been on the other side. Stiles was practically hopping with excitement! He kept dashing ahead of 04 in his eagerness, then reluctantly shuffling back when he remembered they were supposed to stay close to each other. Though, it was hard when he was constantly met with new and unfamiliar scents and the craggy mountainous landscape was far more interesting than the fields and forests he knew on the other side of the river.

On their walk they discovered a small lake, several dazzling waterfalls, more cave networks, a vacant fox den, a swamp, and . . . the wall.

They had both stopped dead in their tracks the moment they caught sight of the fifteen-foot high concrete wall. The tree line sat back a good thirty feet from it and they didn’t dare step out from between the trees. The wall looked thick and sturdy, with large spirals of razor wire along the top. It seemed to go on forever in both directions.

Slowly, hackles raised and eyes never leaving it, they backed away from the wall like it was about to attack them. The moment it left their sight, Stiles and 04 turned and ran back the way they had come. The trek back to camp wasn’t nearly as playful and light-hearted as the journey there had been. They didn’t stop anywhere except to drink from a stream occasionally, and they made it back to camp just before sunset. 06 had paused when they returned and 11 tilted his head in silent  askance at their hurried return.

Not knowing how else to convey what they had seen Stiles dragged his paw through the wet mud and sand next to the river bank and crudely spelled out the word ‘WALL’ with an arrow pointing back in the direction they had come from. The others seemed to immediately understand and looked back towards that direction with mixed expressions on their feline faces. There was something comforting about knowing where the wall was and imagining being on the other side. But it was also dangerous because of the trackers in the collars that would tell the Commander that they had seen the wall, they had even gotten fairly close. They couldn’t return to the wall or else the Commander might think that they’re trying to escape.

Needless to say, none of them went exploring on that side of the river again.

* * *

It happened in the dead of night. While the very forest itself had been in a deep sleep with the soothing sound of rain and a distant thunder storm lulling through the trees. Through the calm and the darkness, a low siren swept over the forest, slowly rising in pitch and volume until all four tigers were jolting awake in the cave from the painfully loud droning. Noises of sleepy confusion were drowned out as the siren descended and rose again in pitch. It sounded like the sirens Beacon Hills would test each summer. Ominous and deafening.

Suddenly, a new noise broke through the wailing. But it didn’t come from outside, it came from the collars around their necks.

“ _ The trial has ended. Please return to the Commander. _ ” Announced a robotic female voice. The message repeated a few moments later, again and again.

It couldn’t be  time yet! Summer had barely started, right? Right?! Crap.

Looking around, the others seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief and fear. But even if they  _ were _ being called in early, it didn’t matter, they had to obey. The moment they stepped out of the cave, the  transmission playing from their collars changed.

“ _ Your destination is 3,685 meters North East to your current location. Proceed to your destination immediately.”  _ Stiles had no idea where to even  _ start _ with that information. Thankfully, 04  _ did _ and just like he’d led them all into the forest one year ago, he was now leading them back out.

They ran. Through the dark, the rain, the mud, and the constant wailing of the siren, they ran. They ran for what felt like hours, exerting every sense and instinct they had to keep from tripping over the rolling landscape and to not lose each other along the way. All the while, that same monotone synthesized female voice announced the shrinking distance between themselves and their inevitable imprisonment. Stiles tried to savor the taste of fresh woodsy air as he panted and his chest ached from knowing he would soon be ripped away from it and he didn’t know when he would return— _ if ever. _

A part of Stiles wished that the journey back would take forever, while another part of him just wanted it to be over. The illusion of freedom had been so sweet before, but now it’s inauthenticity was like acid on his tongue. A bitter voice in the back of his mind mused that he’d never been free out there, they had just given him a bigger cage and now they were taking him back to that cramped little cell to be constantly monitored and bent to their will. Such thoughts continued to fester in his skull as he ran, overtaking his need to cherish his last few moments outside. By the time mechanical floodlights came into view from between the trees, Stiles felt like he was boiling inside.

The first human face he’d seen in a year and it was the grinning mask of the Commander, hiding the monster that lurked just behind the surface. The four tigers slowed to a stop once they were within twenty feet of the man, none of them  daring to get any closer.

“Welcome home, my warriors. Finally, we can begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up! It begins.


	5. The Return

The body he slipped into after a year as a tiger, wasn’t the one he had left behind. When the iron collar had been removed and the Commander told them to shift back, Stiles had slowly sunk into a form that no longer felt familiar. He was hunched over on all fours, kneeling in the mud as rain pelted his vulnerable naked body. His muscles ached and his joints complained with each and every movement. It felt unnatural as he pushed his trembling body up onto two feet and took an unsure step forward. Chestnut-brown hair stuck to his face and neck in the rain, seeming to have grown long enough to hang down to his shoulders.

Looking to the other three, their transformations were just as slow and awkward. The only one who seemed to immediately adapt to his human form again, was 06. The boy got up from the ground gracefully and was immediately in front of Stiles, blocking him from the Commander and line of guards’ view.

“Are you okay, twelve?” his voice barely reached a whisper as it rasped out of his unused throat. A cold hand touched the younger boy's cheek but he didn’t flinch away from it, instead finding peace in the presence of his friend. Stiles didn’t reply, opting to reassure his friend in the way he had grown accustomed to: by rubbing his cheek against 06’s and chuffing under his breath. The noise sounded a little different with his human throat, a bit higher and airier, but 06 understood all the same, bumping his forehead lightly against Stiles’.

They didn’t get any more time to commune in their own way when a guard shouted for them to get inside. There they were each given a towel and a set of familiar grey clothes. The others arrived as the guard was explaining that they would be taken to a room for haircuts, showers, and any other kinds of treatment or issues they needed dealt with in their human bodies. Stiles’ group greeted the others with raspy words and brief embraces— _ after all they hadn’t seen each other since last fall. _ The only one missing was 01. And for that, Stiles was partially relieved.

Thankfully, they didn’t wait for him to show up, the guard led them through the cold white halls of the compound to the large shower room. Stiles, along with most of the others, went straight for the showers. He hadn’t felt hot water on his skin in a year and it was almost a sacred experience when he stepped under the spray. Stiles closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the water, letting it envelop him. He didn’t think about anything. His mind was heavy and blissfully empty. The grime and stress of a year out in the wilderness slowly washed away.

Vaguely, he could hear the others talking in the background, catching up and putting their vocal cords back into use. He listened as the first few left the shower stalls and somewhere off to the side, he heard the buzz of an electric razor turn on.

“Twelve?”

Stiles opened his eyes and turned to see 06 standing by his stall, looking like he was on his way to join the others.

“Are you going to get your hair cut? Our time in here is almost up, they might not do it if we don’t hurry.” 06 said, indicating with his head to the steadily shrinking line of boys getting their mops of overgrown hair buzzed off by a guard. Stiles grabbed a wet lock of hair hanging over his shoulder and thought about getting his old buzz-cut back. Something about it didn’t sit quite right with him, though. The hair was his only visible proof of the year that had passed. Maybe . . . maybe that was how he’d mark the passing of time, a constant reminder of how long he’d been there so he didn’t lose track and lose himself. It was silly, but  it felt right.

“Nah, not yet.” Stiles’ voice cracked and ached the moment he used it, being that it was the first time that he’d spoken. Some of the other boys’ voices sounded remarkedly different and deeper after the year in the forest, but Stiles’ seemed mostly the same. 06 looked at his hair considering, then smiled.

“Suits you.” was all he said before walking away to get his own mess of thick curly hair trimmed down.

Stiles finished his shower, got dressed, and joined the others. As soon as they were all done, they were led back to the hallway lined with their rooms. It seemed that in their absence, some rearranging had been done and instead of their rooms each having an empty room between them, they had all been clumped together so that at least their rooms would now share a wall with each other. Stiles didn’t end up next to 06 like he would have preferred, but he shared a wall with 11 and that came with a semblance of comfort.

Entering his room, Stiles was immediately depressed to realize just how small the room  was. After a full year out in the woods, it felt like he was placed in a cramped kennel rather than a room. Only a few minutes after the door closed and locked behind him, the overhead light shut off and Stiles felt his exhaustion finally catch up to him. He flopped onto the mattress and tried to drop off into sleep but it hastily eluded him as an uncomfortable feeling sank down into his bones.

He rolled over, switched positions, even flipped to the other end of the mattress, but nothing worked. His frustration mounted and it was made all the worse because it was the middle of the night and he knew that they probably wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the next day. Stiles glared up at the darkened ceiling for a solid twenty minutes before the growl erupted from him unbidden. He let his instincts take over as he rolled off the bed, grabbed the thin mattress and dragged it to the floor before shoving it under the steel bedframe that was more of a solid metal slab bolted to the wall. Stiles climbed into the small little ‘cavern’ he’d made for himself and the moment he laid down, he felt that insufferable itch abate. With his back pressed to the cool wall and being able to see the door from under the bed frame, he finally relaxed enough for the exhaustion to take over.

* * *

As Stiles was escorted into the courtyard and caught sight of the others, he felt something clench in his gut as he thought about the immense differences of the ones before him now and the trembling line of  children that they’d been the last time they’d stood in that courtyard. Now they were hunters, predators, survivalist, now they were dangerous.

They sat in the thick grass, soaking in the morning sun while ignoring the armed guards around them. Stiles of course plopped down next to 06, bumping their shoulders for a comforting bit of contact—they'd been brought their breakfast in their rooms that morning before being led out to the courtyard so it was the first  time he’d seen the other since last night. Stiles was used to spending nearly every moment with his friend, it would be a hard adjustment for him. Once again, Stiles noticed that 01 was absent from the group. He wondered if something had happened to the aggressive older boy while on his own out there, or if he’d simply decided to the stay out there and the guards would have to go track him down.

The door swung open, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention as a man strode confidently out. Stiles felt a pit form in his gut as he recognized him. The only guard he bothered to remember his name:  _ Dimitri _ . The man who had kidnapped Stiles from outside the hospital. He would never forget those dangerous eyes. Dimitri grinned as he stopped in front of their group.

“Morning,” his accent was thick and the words rolled off his tongue with great effort. “I will teach you how to be proper tiger. You will learn to fight, to defend yourself, and how to use your abilities in any situation. We will start with learning to fight in human form. Three, get up, you will go first.” Dimitri gestured for 03 to get up and stand before him. He did as he was told, looking mildly confused but not risking disobeying with so many loaded guns in the area.

Dimitri indicated for 03 to move to the side, so that they could face each other while the group sat in the grass could fully see them.

“Good. Now, attack me.” Dimitri instructed seriously. 03 silently sputtered, his eyes flicking incredulously from Dimitri to the armed guards and back. Dimitri shook his head. “This is for training; they won’t punish you.  _ Attack _ .” With great reluctance, 03 obeyed. 03 swung his fist, aiming for Dimitri’s jaw, but in a flash 03’s fist was knocked aside and the older man kicked him back harshly with a boot to the gut. Stiles cringed as 03 wheezed and could feel the others around him collectively tense.

“Keep your body angled slightly to the side, keep your dominant foot in front of you and planted like this. Don’t lean just your shoulders into the hit, the strength should come from your core while using your whole body.” Dimitri instructed the still-winded 03. They soon tried again, 03 went to attack and was viciously thwarted by their instructor.

Dimitri continued to try to lecture them all about stance and how to use their supernatural speed and strength to their advantage in a fight. Eventually, 03 was mercifully swapped out for 04. Dimitri continued to ‘teach’ in his brutal manner, seemingly preferring to let them learn in the most vicious, painful way the basics of fighting in their human forms. They had learned how to hunt and fight with their teeth and claws, they knew nothing about fighting like this and Dimitri certainly knew that. It was sickening to watch, but that’s what they all did.

And then it was 06’s turn.

His friend was visibly nervous as he stood once his number was called. Stiles’ jaw clenched painfully and he had to dig his blunt nails into the palms of his hands to keep from giving in to his instincts and dragging the boy back and away from Dimitri. He didn’t want his friend anywhere near Dimitri, not with that vile look in his eye, but there was nothing he could do. This was supposed to be their ‘ _ training’ _ so clearly the other guards had no problem with it.

He was right to worry.

06 did his best to hit Dimitri, but he just wasn’t quick enough. Dimitri easily stepped out of the way of his fist and hooked his foot around 06’s ankle in a single fluid motion, taking 06 down hard straight on his back. Stiles winced as he heard the sound of all the air being knocked out of 06’s lungs. Dimitri chuckled as he stood over 06 and felt his invisible hackles raise.

“I’m actually surprised you survived out in woods. Your connection to your tiger is weak,  _ I can smell it. _ You smell  _ human.  _ I doubt you’ll last, the weak tend to die off early.” Dimitri mocked, shoving 06 back down with his boot when he tried to get back up. Stiles didn’t know when he’d lost control exactly, but the next thing he knew he was snarling dangerously and pouncing at the vulnerable back of Dimitri. He was still in his human form, but his nails were longer and sharper as he used them to dig deeply into the meat of his shoulders. His teeth were also gleaming white fangs as he sank his teeth into Dimitri’s neck with the intent of tearing right through to his jugular.

Unfortunately, he didn’t make it that far.

The moment his teeth pierced the man’s flesh he was being flipped over his shoulder onto the ground and was immediately set upon by several guards with electrified batons. Stiles had never been tasered before. He screamed with the first touch of the baton but eventually went quiet once his muscles gave out and his heart pumped lethargically and painfully slow in his chest. Two guards hoisted him up by his arms and with his heavy head lolling he managed to catch a glimpse of a struggling 06 being held back as he shouted for them to let Stiles go. Dimitri had a hand pressed to his bloody neck but he was grinning savagely at Stiles as he was dragged away.

“Seems he needs to cool off.” his words held an ominous ring to them.

His head dropped between his shoulders as he struggled to stay conscious, his useless legs dragged behind him and Stiles was just grateful that the floors were smooth tile as they walked and not rough concrete otherwise, he’d soon be missing the skin on the tops of his feet and toes. He was hauled through unfamiliar halls and Stiles was brought to a part of the compound he’d never seen before. When they slowed down, Stiles weakly lifted his head to see a set of unpainted metal doors. Surprisingly, those were the only doors he’d ever seen in the compound without a lock or keypad. They swung open as they walked through and Stiles was hit with a wave of damp, musty air.

The room was huge with exposed steel rafters high above their heads. Cold seemed to seep from the very walls around them, and the floor was a gritty, dirty cement that was far less forgiving on his dragging feet. Stiles hissed under his breath as he was pulled to the center of the room where a cylindrical brick structure lay. As he was dragged closer, Stiles realized that it was actually filled with water. About five feet in diameter but only three feet deep. If it was meant to be some sort of pool, it was the strangest one he’d ever seen. The most confusing and ominous part of the whole thing was the metal chair sat in the water near the edge.

Without any warning, Stiles’ weak body was turned and dropped onto the chair. A flash of pain in his tailbone and the freezing water that instantly soaked through his pants sent a horrid shock through his body. The guards worked efficiently as they set his small wrists into the open metal cuffs at the end of the chairs armrests and snapped them closed before reaching their arms into the frigid waters to do the same to his ankles. Stiles was already shivering when they stepped back and moved to the door to stand guard and wait. The water was almost to his navel and not even his supernatural heat could totally chase away the penetrating cold.

Ten excruciating minutes later, the doors opened again and Dimitri waltzed in with a pep in his step and a fresh bandage on his neck. Just the sight of him made Stiles wish to do violent things to the man, but there really wasn’t much he could do cuffed to a chair and trembling like a leaf. He tried to follow his dad’s advice from so long ago about being  _ smart _ in situations like this, but pulling in the reins on his anger had become so much harder since the change.

“They told me you were doing well, that you took to the gift like a fish to water, that you were doing what they told you to do and you were showing real promise. I was proud. Afterall, I was the one who chose you. I feel a personal responsibility for you, Twelve, which is why I think it is my duty alone to give you special attention when you fail and make sure you’re set back on the right path.” Dimitri reached out and ruffled his hair in a bastardized show of affection and Stiles pulled away from the hand as best as he could with a look he did doubt told of his repulsion. Dimitri’s smile widened for a moment.

“Take this as a lesson, Twelve, and maybe you won’t need another.” Dimitri patted his cheek roughly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small hand-held remote. He pressed something and the chair in which Stiles sat began to tilt back. He barely had time to suck in a panicked breath before he fell backwards into the water and was completely submerged.

He thrashed in the metal cuffs and tried to push himself up towards the surface but the restraints kept him just out of reach. The icy water was like knives against his skin and his continued struggles bent and bruised his wrists horribly. His lungs screamed at him and just as he was about to give in to the encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision, the chair began to rise out of the water and set him upright once more. He heaved in breaths and sputtered out what little water had entered his nose and throat. He slumped in the chair, coughing over and over as he greedily sucked in  musty gulps of  air .

“Good, good. . . Really let the message sink in. We of course want to be thorough though, so how about another round?” And just like that, he was plunged back into the water. Over and over again. Stiles lost count of how many times he was held under after the tenth. And each time he went under, it became harder and harder to stay calm and hold his breath. After an hour he would come up half-drowned and vomiting up all the water he had swallowed and couldn’t even manage to lift his head.

It was then that they finally decided he was done.

The clamps around his bruised and bloodied wrists and ankles were released and the two guards hoisted him back up out of the water and began dragging him again. Only, they didn’t drag him out of the room like he’d expected. No, they practically carried him to the wall off to the right that had been out of sight and veiled in shadows up until then. But now as he neared it, he saw that it held a line of thick metal cages. Thick bands of steel welded together in a woven pattern to keep anything bigger than a house cat from escaping. They opened the door and tossed his body inside.

“We call these the isolation-cells, but I suppose you can just call it  _ time-out.” _ Dimitri mocked as he  rapped his knuckles against the cage. Stiles didn’t respond, too exhausted to even lift his head. He could tell his body was working hard to heal itself, but it was a lethargic process with his body being so cold, the blood circulated like molasses in his veins. Besides, healing was always fastest when done by others unto him.

“See you in the morning, Twelve.” Dimitri departed and Stiles listened as two pairs of footsteps followed him out. Stiles was relieved to finally be left alone.

* * *

He didn’t know when he’d nodded off, but Stiles was startled awake by the loud crack of a door hitting the wall from the force that it was thrown open. Stiles quickly sat up and moved to the edge of the cage to get a better view of what was happening. It was 01. He looked like he’d been through the grinder, covered in smears of dirt and large purpling bruises and a few trickling shallow cuts. He had a guard on each side of him pulling him along, but unlike Stiles he was walking on his own two feet. Actually, he was  _ fighting _ on his own two feet. Kicking, snarling, and trying to wretch his arms out of their tight grasps.

His fight was in vain, though. A moment later he was tossed into the cage next to Stiles and the door was slammed shut before he had the chance to get back up. Stiles watched him curiously as the boy banged his fist angrily on the door until the guards left and them reluctantly moved over to the far corner to sit down since the cage wasn’t tall enough for him to stand up fully. Stiles hadn’t seen him since he’d tried to kill him in the woods over the territory. But with the protection of the cage walls between them, he felt his fear ebb away and make way for the questions burning at the back of his mind.

“You tried to stay out there, didn’t you?” 01 jolted at the sound of his voice in the silent room, clearly not having realized he was there. Stiles wasn’t really expecting an answer, but perhaps 01 figured he had nothing else to lose.

“ Hell of a lot better than this shithole.” 01 spat while glaring at the cage around him. Stiles nodded, having had the very same desires before they were called back.

“Yeah, but being out there means no chance for escaping.” Stiles countered with a shrug. 01 frowned and looked at Stiles confused.

“Out there is the closest we could have come to freedom.” 01 argued and Stiles was already shaking his head.

“Not with those collars. If we tried to take them off or jump the wall, they’d kill us. And with the GPS the Commander always knew where we were. If we could make it outside  _ without _ the collars, we’d be golden.” 01 didn’t reply, but Stiles could see he was thinking about it.

“How would you do it then?” 01 asked after a long time had already passed. Stiles had been laying down, so he sat back up to see the other. He thought about it for a while, about where and when would be his best opportunity. An idea struck him and he knew his answer immediately.

“Here.”

“What?” 01 looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Being here, in this room would be the best chance we’d have at escaping. Look around, one. The cages use manual locks, not keypads, so they can be picked, and the doors aren’t even locked.” Stiles moved to the edge of the cage and carefully scanned the room around them. “There’s no guards in here and I’m pretty sure there aren’t even cameras. They probably figure that the cages are sturdy enough to hold us and there’s no need to watch us all night.”

“Or they  _ want _ us to try to escape so that they have another reason to beat the shit out of us. I mean, it can’t be that simple.” 01 dismissed, looking no longer interested in what he had to say. Stiles sighed and scooted back to lean against the wall of the cage like 01.

“You asked.” With that, the conversation died between them. The room was dark, with only two dim lights hanging from the high ceiling, Stiles could believe it was night and the faint light came from the moon. It might actually be night, since he didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping. At least his clothes were dry now.

For the next few hours, they didn’t exchange a word. Though, as sleep continued to evade Stiles and he grew ever restless in his cage, he started trying to think up topics for them to discuss. He was still wary of 01, angry at him for attacking 06 and trying to kill him, but Stiles had enough of silence and loneliness to consume him when locked in his cell. After a year of not being able to speak, he would take  _ any _ company over none. Hell, he’d rather listen to the Commander’s delusional rants than be left with his own thoughts. When he finally spoke, neither of them  was expecting the words that come out of his mouth.

“I wanted to kill him. . .” 01 didn’t visibly react, and Stiles didn’t look up from the ground as he spoke. “I’ve never wanted to  _ kill _ anything. I hunted only for food in the woods, and while I think the Commander is definitely sick, I’ve never felt  _ rage _ like that. And I know it’s not just because he hurt six; they all hurt us. No, I wanted to  _ kill _ him. I still do. . .” Stiles admitted, private thoughts pouring out unbidden in the darkness of the room. Without the cameras and guards and collars, he felt like he could be honest without fearing the consequences.

“Why do you want to kill him then?” 01 asked  quietly , even though he probably didn’t know exactly who Stiles was talking about.

“ Because . . . because he took me. He took me away from my dad. Because of him, my dad lost his son and his wife on the same day and now he’s completely alone.” the words hung heavy in the air, just waiting for the slightest nudge to come crashing down and crush Stiles underneath them. It was a long time before either of them said anything, but surprisingly it wasn’t Stiles who broke the silence.

“I don’t remember my parents. . . I heard from my social worker that they were both junkies and they’re probably both either dead or in jail right now. I was bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid but I learned pretty quickly it was just better to be on my own. I’m the only one who can protect  _ me. _ I was living on the streets for a year before they snatched me up.” Stiles was watching him through the bars, trying to decipher the complicated expression on 01’s face. “So, I don’t  got anybody waiting for me on the outside, but I’ll be damned if I  rot in here for the rest of my life.”

In a way, Stiles sort of understood 01 now. He didn’t  _ like _ 01 or his decisions, but he could see why he did what he did. 01 had been looking out for himself for years—probably for his whole life—and being here wouldn’t change any of that. 01 was still looking out for himself. He wouldn’t help the others or protect them, and if he had to step on one of them to help himself, he’d do it without question. If Stiles needed his help in the future, he’d have to make sure it greatly benefited 01 as well, but that left room for hope.

**Author's Note:**

> This work isn't beta read so please forgive any grammatical mistakes.
> 
> Talk to me in the comments down below, I'd love to know what you guys think. Look forward tot he next chapter.


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